


New Normal

by Akamaimom



Category: The Last Ship (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: Tom's figuring out this new life of his. New home, new peace, new woman at his side. Sometimes, he just needed a moment to stare into the quiet and realize how blessed he was. Tom/Sasha established. Set a few years after "Don't Look Back". I normally don't write this steamy or this non-canon, but it was a special gift request. So, Merry Christmas, Scousedancer. This one's for you.





	

**_New Normal_ **

****

**_Written as a Secret Santa gift for Scousedancer, who wanted “Happy Tom/Sasha”._ **

**_I hope this is what you wanted!_ **

**_Merry Christmas!_ **

****

****

**_This is a LOT more mature than I usually write, so be ye therefore warned. It’s set a few years after “Don’t Look Back”, so I’m also departing from my “norm” as a strict canon writer._ **

**_But hey – it’s what my friend wanted. Besides, it’s Christmas – the time of miracles. Maybe someday we’ll see something similar on the show._ **

****

  

He was puttering. 

At least, that's what Darien would have called it. He'd finished up with the dishes, found and thrown away a few random pieces of wrapping paper that had made their way into the dining room, and made sure that the doors and windows were locked before making his way up the stairs. 

From the first landing, the loft was visible through the banister. Even with the garland draped along the handrails, he could see light coming from the room, and could hear Ashley and Sam's easy banter. Small plastic clicks told him that they were playing on the gaming console he'd managed to round up for one of their gifts. It had been state-of-the-art once - four or so years ago - but the kids had been just as excited to receive it as they would have been something new and improved. 

Sometimes, he forgot that they were still kids underneath the maturity that had fallen upon them in the past few years. The apocalypse was tricky that way. 

Rounding the uppermost post of the banister, he took the two or three steps across the hall until he reached the arched entrance into the loft. They'd decided on an expansive sectional for the room when they'd moved in. The main wall in the room had built-in cabinetry where they'd situated a large TV and entertainment system. Ever since Tom had come home full-time, they'd set about rebuilding their DVD collection. Even with four channels in nation-wide operation, there wasn't enough on TV to watch just for the pleasure of it. Most broadcasting was educational in nature, or filled with post-plague news updates. Every once in a while, they just wanted to watch something mindless. 

Or to play something just for fun. 

"Get him, Sam!" 

"I'm trying, Ash." Sam wrenched his controller to one side as he flicked at the keys on the device. He'd grown so much lately that he was nearly as tall as his sister, and their feet hit at exactly the same point on the ottoman. Right now, he was digging his heel into the fabric, contorting himself in an effort to help his avatar's movements. 

Apparently, it didn't work, because he let out a howled "No!" Chucking his controller onto the couch seat next to him, he threw his hands up and over his head. "Every time! I'm telling you - the game has it in for me!" 

"You just have to be more subtle with the motions, Sam." Ashley paused her portion of the game and turned towards her little brother. "It takes practice. You've been playing this for - like - three hours. You can't expect to do it perfectly the first time, right?"

They were so beautiful. Stronger than he'd ever imagined that kids could be. He'd heard people say it - hell - he'd said it himself from time to time. _Kids are resilient. They tend to bounce back. They're survivors._ Tom just never thought he'd know it as completely as he did at this moment. They'd watched so many people die - friends, neighbors, leaders, other survivors. Their mother. Their grandfather. 

And then they'd had to watch their father slowly fall apart, see him despair, see him flounder until he'd finally figured things out and moved on.

Even then, they'd gotten through it with him and helped him forward. And now they were just hanging out together like two regular kids, playing a regular video game, being as normal as possible. Completely ordinary. Unremarkable except for the fact that they'd walked through the end of the world and come out on the other side still clinging tightly to their own innate humanity. 

Tom leaned a shoulder against the archway, his arms crossing in front of his chest. How the hell had he gotten so lucky? Indulging himself just a little more, he watched them play another round before glancing down at his watch and then pushing himself upright. 

"Hey, guys." 

Ashley answered first, pausing the game and turning towards him. "Hey, Dad." 

"I'm heading back downstairs. Don't stay up too late, okay?" 

"Okay." Ashley nodded. "Love you, Dad." 

"Me too, Dad." Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes. He'd been needing a haircut for a while, but Tom had been putting it off. The kid always looked so much older with short hair, and Tom wasn't anxious for reminders of how much time he'd missed with his children. "Good night."

"'Night, son." Tom smiled at them both. "Good night, sweetheart. Love you both back." 

But he'd lost them to the game again.

Taking a few steps backwards, he made his way back to the stairs and then down, carefully navigating the slippery wooden stairs in his thick nubby socks. They kept meaning to put a runner down the staircase, but hadn't found one that they'd all liked, yet. Normally, he'd just wear his shoes or stick to bare feet, but the night was cold, and Tom had reached his limit of constant discomfort. He was ready to be happy. 

He stepped off the bottom stair and walked through the entry way and back towards the living room. The house was large - probably too large for the family - but from the moment they'd walked in, it had felt like home. It had been one of the millions of homes left vacant and unclaimed, and Tom had called in a favor or two to secure the deed. They'd been living there for nearly four months, but it felt like longer. Tom's nomadic early years had created an almost-primal need in him to settle. To sink roots deep into something that didn't float away. It was time. 

This room was comfortable - warmer than it had been upstairs. He'd lit a fire earlier, and it still crackled welcomingly behind the grate. The dancing flames and the huge Christmas tree in the corner were the only sources of light in the front section of the house, other than the carriage lights on either side of the front porch, and they were filtered by the ornate stained glass on either side of the double door. 

He was tired. Not exhausted like after a mission, but heavy with a satisfied kind of languor that permeated his entire being. Crossing the room, he sank down into his favorite corner of the sofa, lifting his legs to rest his feet on the coffee table. For the moment, the house was still, and quiet, and warm, and regardless how heavily the snow fell outside, Tom knew that his family was secure and safe under his roof. He wasn't certain that he'd ever feel complacent about it, but for the moment, he was satisfied. 

"What are you doing?" She'd appeared behind him without warning, as was her wont to do. Leaning down, she placed her hand on his shoulder and nuzzled a kiss onto the top of his head. "I thought we were going to bed." 

Tom looked up, craning his head to see her looking down at him, her dark hair falling like a curtain between them. "The fire's still going. I thought I'd enjoy it a little bit longer." 

"Then I'll join you." Straightening, she padded around the edge of the couch, detouring slighting to grab a quilt from the rocking chair on the other side of the room. "The kids aren't in bed yet." 

"It's Christmas. They can stay up." 

Sasha grinned. "Not too long ago, you'd have been unsettled at the thought of them messing up their schedules."

Tom simply watched her, his head tilted to one side. Not too long ago, he'd have been unsettled at the thought of this scene - of this woman making herself so comfortable in his home. Of her lithe form draped in a satin nightgown and robe set that he'd bought her, as her hair tumbled loose and wanton around her shoulders. Of her body settling in next to him on the couch - easy, and unforced. At how she sank into him, arranging the quilt around her, her hand coming unerringly up to rest on the broad plane of his chest, their fit so damned perfect that he forgot that it hadn’t always been like this between them. 

Not too long ago, he'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd wasted his second chance with her, that he'd squandered something profoundly beautiful. He'd walked away from everything that he'd felt had defined him. He'd thought that he was lost - that he'd _been_ lost. 

But he hadn't. And she was here. And it wasn't weird, or forced, or complex. 

It just - _was_.

And it was _right_. And so natural that he sometimes was afraid that he'd wake up in the cabin of the James and face the realities of what he’d lost. 

Her breath was warm against his collarbone as she turned her face up towards his. "Did you talk to POTUS about the thing next month?" 

"I did." Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulder, his fingers sliding slowly along the smooth satin of her robe. "He told me that everything was ready." 

"I just wish I didn't have to go." 

"Any idea how long you'll be gone?" 

"A few weeks is all." Sasha tucked her hair behind her ear with a graceful movement of her fingers. "The new Chinese government is anxious to prove its desire to cooperate with the United States and will fulfill any task given in regards to that goal." 

"And that's diplomat-speak for - " 

"They're running scared. Ever since Peng and his attempt at wiping out the rest of Asia, the region is a tinderbox. The new Chinese leadership is trying to change its image and show goodwill." 

"That's a hell of a challenge." 

"Mmmm." Sasha nodded, her hair shushing against his t-shirt. "Their new president is a wonderful woman. I've known her for years. If anyone can portray a repentant country, it's her." 

Tilting his head towards his chest, he rested his lips against her crown, breathing in her essence as his hand stroked back and forth on her impossibly smooth shoulder. "If anyone can help them achieve that goal, it's you." 

"You're just saying that because it's Christmas." 

"I'm saying that because it's true. Watching you convince people to do what you want them to do is a beautiful thing." Tom shifted a little, pulling her closer as he allowed his hand to drift downward, soothing its way along the gentle curve of her shoulder and the strong lines of her arm to rest on the delicate swell of her hip. Pressing a kiss against her hair, he let his palm drift just a little further south, just because he was still a little amazed to be allowed that luxury. And because he loved the sounds she made when he did it. "And it kind of turns me on." 

"Only you would use international relations talk as foreplay." 

"It would only work with you." 

Her gentle laugh was accompanied by her hand doing a little exploring of its own, sliding down his body to find the bottom hem of his shirt. Within moments, she'd found his skin, her fingertips trailing little random mazes on his abdomen, the ring on her finger solid and real against his body. He'd only put it there a few weeks before, but it, like the house, seemed like an eternal thing. Like the most natural, right thing in the world. 

"Your hands are cold." He was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Hence, the quilt." 

"But your hands aren't being covered by the quilt." Tom closed his eyes, allowing her touch to capture his entire attention.

"No, they're being covered by your shirt." But then she dipped a single fingertip beneath the waistband of his jeans. "Although I'm thinking that you might be overdressed for this particular occasion." 

"And what occasion would that be?" 

"Tuesday." 

He laughed - he couldn't help it. "Well, on Tuesdays, as everyone knows, anything goes. It's Party Central around the Chandler residence." 

"Evidenced by the fact that we're sitting in our living room completely alone." Somehow, she didn't seem to be disappointed by said fact. 

"I'm good with that." He made another slow round with his hand on her hip. 

"Tom?" She'd moved against him, lifting away slightly from his body so that she could angle a look at him. 

"Yes, Sasha?" 

But she didn't answer - not in words, at least. Instead, she lifted her hand to frame his jaw, gently tugging to bring his lips to within a breath of hers. Her whisper was sweet on his mouth. "I need for you to kiss me." 

"You need it?" 

"Yes." She brushed her nose against his, dragging her thumb along the stubble on his cheek and chin. "It's a rather desperate situation." 

Tom tightened his fingers on the incredible curves beneath the quilt, trying to ignore the need that had suddenly surged in his core. "I'm lousy with desperate situations." 

"You're just being modest." Sasha grinned, her eyelashes teasing at his skin. "You're great in desperate situations." 

"Really?" 

"Well, yesterday, we ran out of milk." 

"We did." 

She passed her thumb along his bottom lip, her gaze intent on his mouth. "And so you went out and bought more." 

Tom touched the tip of his tongue to the pad of her thumb, ridiculously satisfied when she shivered slightly. "Positively heroic." 

"It did things to me."

"What kinds of things?" 

"Good things."

"Like this?" Lowering his head, Tom grazed her lips in the merest suggestion of a kiss. "That kind of thing?" 

"No." Sasha smiled sadly. "Different than that." 

Tom dipped downward again, lingering a little longer, this time, but still accomplishing only a chaste touch of his lips to hers. "Better?" 

She pretended to consider. "Worse, I think." 

"Third time's the charm." He set his jaw, exhaling dramatically. "I'll try again." 

"You do that." Sasha smiled and patted his cheek.

Tom adjusted his hold on her, then hauled her unceremoniously across his lap, turning her around so that she faced him. The quilt fell to the floor, but Sasha didn't seem to care - her robe had fallen down off one shoulder, exposing a tantalizing view of creamy skin, but she made no move to fix it. Lifting a hand, Tom skimmed her collarbone with his fingertips, and then braced his other palm against her back, drawing her close to retrace his meanderings with his lips and tongue. 

She gasped when his teeth nipped at the delicate column of her neck, her fingers finding their way into the curls at his nape. She sighed a little, pulling him more closely, tilting her head back as he nuzzled his way up her throat, around her jaw, and chin, and cheek. Finally, he paused at her mouth, studying her lips, her eyelashes where they fell against her cheek, and the perfect curve of her brow. Slowly, he touched her lips with his own, brushing gently one way, and then the other, before tugging slightly with his thumb on her jaw until she opened for him. 

And then there was heat, and intensity, and the losing of each in the other. Sasha dug her feet into the couch cushions, turning her body even more flush with Tom's, as Tom's hands found their way into the folds of her robe, and then to her back, where the deep plunge of her nightgown afforded him more skin to explore. She purred a little as his hands dipped beneath the gown, her body arching against his touch. 

"Room." It wasn't physically possible for him to say more. One of her hands had insinuated itself under his t-shirt and was wreaking havoc on his senses. 

"Socks." Smiling against his mouth, Sasha traced his ear with a fingertip before pulling slightly away. "There's nothing attractive about a naked guy wearing socks." 

Tom was already toe-ing them off, though, and then he unceremoniously lifted her off his lap and settled her onto her own two feet while he unfolded himself from the couch. He captured her against him for another quick kiss, then turned her handily and propelled her towards the stairs, stepping out of the thick woolen socks as he followed in her wake. 

Up the stairs, hand in hand. But he couldn't make it the entire way without touching her more fully, and he caught her by the waist and drove her up against the staircase wall, rattling the pictures hanging there.

More. He needed more. Hands and lips and bodies, breathy sighs and whispers. By the time he pulled away, she'd discarded his belt and loosened the top of his jeans, and her calf had curled itself around his outer thigh. Tom had discovered that the gown beneath her robe was slit nearly to her waist. He'd been giving thanks to the genius who'd designed it during those moments when he'd been able to think at all. 

It was her turn for orders. "Room." 

"Good lord, yes." Tom lifted his head from her throat, where he'd been following her pulse with the tip of his tongue. "Room." 

Mustering a modicum of sedate adultness, they climbed the rest of the stairs, pausing on the landing. 

"Ash? Sam? We're heading to bed. It's been a long day." Tom watched as Sasha sashayed through their open bedroom door, the peignoir swirling around her ankles. 

"M'kay, Dad." Ashley had answered around the clicks of her controller - she'd always been good at multitasking.           

"Okay. Don't stay up too late." Through the door he watched as Sasha lifted the robe from her shoulders and allowed it to slide inexorably to the floor, slowly exposing the elegant line of her spine and the barest hint of dimple at its base. The moonlight beaming in through the window limned her skin in an ethereal glow, glinting nearly blue off her hair as she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His mouth instantly went dry.

"Yeah. You already said that." 

"All right then." Swallowing, he headed towards the double doors leading into the room he and Sasha shared. "Good night." 

"'Night!" 

But he'd already closed the doors, flicking the lock tight.

  

\-------OOOOOOOO-------

 

It was late, but he couldn't sleep. Usually, it wasn't a problem. He'd spent most of his adult life figuring out how to sleep in the most unusual of circumstances. It was a military thing that he hadn't been able to leave behind. 

But tonight wasn't unusual - it was normal. His new normal. Sleeping in this giant of a four-poster bed isn't his sprawling, comfortable home, with this woman gently snoring beside him - this was his life, now. She was his wife, now. And his normal was pretty damned perfect, he thought. His wife even more so. She was perfect - especially now, with her hair spread like tangible shadow across the rumpled pillows, her bare legs tangling with his beneath the down comforter, her cheek soft where it rested on his outstretched arm. 

He was warm. He was sated. He was profoundly aware of what he had. He was grateful. 

Sasha stirred, rolling nearer to him, her hand finding its way onto his ribs. Briefly, her eyes flickered open, before drowsing closed again. 

"Go to sleep, Tom." 

"I've been trying." 

"You can't possibly be up for round three already." 

"No." He exhaled deeply. "I'm just lying here looking at you."

"Bed head and smeared make up." She grinned, her teeth flashing in the darkness. "Sexy." 

Tom lifted a hand to smooth a strand of hair off her face, combing it back behind her ear. "Hey, Sasha." 

"Yeah?" She stifled a yawn by turning her face into his arm. 

"I love you, you know." 

Her hand tightened on his body as her eyes blinked open again. "What?" 

"I love you." He threaded his fingers into the heavy mass of her hair, cupping the back of her head. "I'm not sure I've ever told you. Even when we - " 

"Got hitched?" 

"I wasn't sure what to call it." 

Because there hadn't actually been a ceremony. He'd found the ring in the house while they'd been moving in. Gold filigree with a small, clear stone. He'd pocketed it until he was sure it was what she wanted - spending a lifetime with him and his kids. They hadn't been able to find a preacher or a judge, so he'd merely slid the ring on her finger as they'd been walking in the countryside around their home, watching as the kids had thrown rocks into their pond. And then he'd kissed her and promised her that he'd always be there for her. 

She'd promised to obey him if they were ever on the James again. 

He'd promised to listen to her. 

She'd promised to tune him out whenever he got too bossy. 

He'd pledged his life to her.

And she'd accepted it. 

And then they'd gathered the kids up and headed back to the house for dinner. 

She was gazing at his face as if to memorize each feature, her own expression a mixture of wonder and joy. "You didn't, actually." 

"Well, I do." 

"Good to know." She leaned into him and kissed him lightly, before turning in his arms and spooning in towards him. It took a few moments for her to relax fully again, for her breathing to become regular and deep. 

Tom threaded his arm around her waist, his hand finding its way to rest just underneath the swell of her breast. Nuzzling a kiss into her hair, he allowed his head to sink into the pillow. 

"Tom?" Soft, hesitant, her voice threaded through the night. 

"Yeah?" 

"I love you, too." 

He pulled her closer, if that was even possible, until it wasn't possible to know where he ended and she began. Smiling into her hair, he sighed. "Good to know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
